“So be it,” he said. “Bridud.”
Approach.
Smiling, Kurnos started down the stairs. At Beldyn’s gesture, Cathan moved to meet him and searched him for weapons. He was loath to touch the false Kingpriest, but he did so and not gently, grabbing Kurnos’s arms and legs, then stripping off his jeweled breastplate and checking beneath. He was sure he would find a dagger somewhere among the man’s vestments, but even though he searched a second time, he found nothing.
“Well?” Beldyn asked.
Cathan hesitated, uncertain, every instinct telling him something was wrong. There was something in Kurnos’s eyes that troubled him-a hidden smile, lurking deep beneath the mad sheen. Finally, though, he stepped back.
“He is unarmed, Holiness.”
Smiling, Beldyn beckoned Kurnos to him.
Mistrust simmered in Cathan’s breast as the Kingpriest stepped forward and knelt before the Lightbringer. Slowly, Kurnos bowed his head. He twisted the ring on his finger again, Cathan noticed, moving the emerald around and around in curious fashion.
“Usas farno,” Beldyn intoned, his eyes shining as he signed the triangle, “tas adolam aftongas?”
Child of the god, dost thou forswear thine evil?
Kurnos took a deep breath, let it out. “Aftongo,” he murmured.
Around and around the emerald went. Around and around…
“Tas scolfas firougos, tenfin ourfas?”
Wilt thou repent thy misdeeds, as long as thou livest?
“Firougo.”
Cathan’s eyes locked on the emerald. There was something wrong about it, a strange flashing in its depths. Like lightning, he thought, his heart lurching within his breast as Beldyn reached out and laid his hand on the Kingpriest’s head, speaking the rite of absolution.
Kurnos brought up his hand, pointing the ring at the Lightbringer’s heart. “Ashakai,” he said.
Cathan surged forward with a shout.
Beldyn’s eyes widened.
Lightning, green and blinding bright, flared from the emerald. Thunder roared, filling the hall.
The next thing Cathan knew he was lying on the ground, with Kurnos beneath him. The tiles were smeared red where the Kingpriest’s head lay crooked-unconscious, but not yet dead. The stink of ozone filled the air, and with it the sickly smell of charred flesh. Terror seizing him, Cathan rolled off Kurnos and looked up, expecting the worst.
The Lightbringer was unhurt.
The pain hit, hot and sharp. Cathan looked down and saw the wound, his leather breastplate and the padding beneath that had burnt away, the flesh beneath it seething red and black, smoke curling from his side.
It seemed everyone started shouting at once. Men ran forward, seizing Kurnos and hauling him away. He heard Holger barking orders, saw Tavarre dashing toward him, his scarred face twisting as he fell to his knees to try to help. He ignored them all, staring at Beldyn. The Lightbringer looked back, his face white, horror staining his diamond-bright gaze. Suddenly the regal figure was gone, and he was a young monk once more.
“Holiness,” Cathan said thickly. There was a warm, iron-tasting wetness in his mouth. Blood, some distant part of his mind said. “Are you all right?”
Stunned, the Lightbringer didn’t answer.
“Beldyn!” Tavarre shouted, cradling Cathan’s head in his hands. “Get over here and heal him, damn it!”
Cathan smiled. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “Actually, I feel fine.”
Letting out his breath, he died.
Chapter Thirty-One
A thousand blasphemies whirled through Tavarre’s mind as he stared at Cathan’s lifeless face. The lad’s breast had stilled, his gaze fixed, staring blindly at the crystal dome above. Cathan was gone.
Stung with tears, the baron closed those sightless eyes, then laid Cathan on the floor, smoke still curling from where the magical lightning had struck him. The wound was ghastly. Tavarre took the time to cover it with Cathan’s hands, folding them on top of the horrible sight. Drawing a shuddering breath, he looked up at the others.
Everyone else-the hierarchs, his men, even Lord Holger- was too aghast to move or speak. Their eyes showed white, their mouths hung open. Among them, the Lightbringer too was aghast. His glow seemed to dim as he realized what had happened.
“He saved me,” Beldyn said, his brow furrowing as if he didn’t understand. “He saved my life…”
You let him die! Tavarre wanted to scream. You had the power to heal him and you did nothing! He wanted to smash the basilica’s dome, tear down the Temple stone by stone. He wanted to pull Paladine down from the heavens and beat him blue.
Tavarre rose, twisted, and stalked to where Kurnos lay. The Kingpriest was stirring now, moaning in pain. The blow against the floor had rattled his wits, but it hadn’t killed him. Another injustice, there. Snarling, Tavarre yanked his sword from its scabbard. The hall rang with the scrape of steel as he raised it above the groaning figure.
“Now you die,” he spat.
“Wait!”
Tavarre’s sword was heavy. It took effort to divert the blow. He did so anyway, striking the mosaic floor a hand’s breadth from Kurnos’s neck. Tiles cracked beneath the blade. He stumbled, thrown off-balance, then turned to look toward the Iightbringer.
“Wait?” the baron demanded. “Holiness-”
“I will not have people say I took the throne by assassination,” Beldyn said. His eyes blazed with fury. “Take off his ring, the emerald one. I would see it.”
Tavarre didn’t move. He stared at the Lightbringer, his anger turning to disgust. Kurnos was a murderer, a coward, a fool. He deserved to die, not just to be stripped of his precious jewelry. The Abyss awaited him, and Tavarre saw no need to keep it waiting long.
It was Quarath who obeyed, stepping forward and bending down to prize the green gem from Kurnos’s finger. The Kingpriest writhed as it came free, groaning again but still not waking. The elf took the ring to Beldyn, who turned it slowly between his fingers, studying it in the dome’s cool light. Color played across its facets. Finally, he clasped the magic ring in his fist and looked up.
“Bring him to me,” he said determinedly.
Tavarre had never felt the same devotion toward the Lightbringer that Cathan had, but now, looking into his fierce, wrathful gaze, he couldn’t help but obey. The desire to kill left him-for now, at least-and sheathing his sword, he bent down to bear Kurnos up.
The Kingpriest’s head lolled as the baron lifted him, and one of Holger’s Knights stepped forward to help while Kurnos blinked and tried to regain his senses. His mouth a lipless line, Tavarre half-dragged the fallen priest to Beldyn, then shoved him to his knees and stepped back, ready to draw steel once more if he must.
“Awake, wretch!” Beldyn growled, hurling the ring.
It struck Kurnos in the face, and he jerked as it clattered to the floor, his eyes flaring open. He stared blindly for a moment, his hand rising to touch the place where his hair had turned sticky with blood, then he started as he remembered everything, trying to draw back from the accusing circle of faces. Tavarre grabbed his shoulder, holding the false Kingpriest still. In time, he stopped struggling, and slumped.
“I could have you killed,” Beldyn declared, golden light swelling from the Miceram. “One word, and any man here would cut your throat for me-or bring me the blade to do it myself. You have spilled blood in the church’s most sacred heart. It would only be fitting to spill yours in return.”
Kurnos glared at him hatefully. “Do it, then,” he snarled.
Within the holy light, blue eyes flashed with rage, and Beldyn raised his hand, opened his mouth to give the order they all expected-then he stopped himself, sighing.
“No, you aren’t worth the trouble,” he said, “and death is too sweet a reward. No, Kurnos-your punishment will not be so easy. You will live, imprisoned in the High Clerist’s Tower in Solamnia. You will have the rest of your days to think on what you’ve done. Perhaps, in time, you will earn the god’s forgiveness-but you shall never have mine.